Kindred Rivers
by Codex Serpens
Summary: Begins with snippets of fractured minds and shattered lives after the destruction of the Dark Lord. Follows DH, no Epilogue. A Harry, Hermione, Luna relationship develops slowly. Will deal with Harry's reluctant role as Master of Death. H/Hr/L HPHGLL
1. Chapter 1: Call of the Forest

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Any characters or situations that are unknown in the Harry Potter series are the author's intellectual property and should not be used without permission.

Pursuant to the Berne Convention Implementation Act of 1988 and the Digital Millennium Copywrite Act of 1998, this work is copywrited 2007 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless explicitly granted. No portion may be reproduced in any fashion without the express written and notarized permission of the author.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. All characters are creations of Joanne K Rowling, 2007, to whom I am deeply indebted.

Standard Disclaimer: This story may contain sexually graphic and explicit material and it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now, as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. These stories are just that, stories, and may or may not reflect the opinions of the author.

Right, now my own words, not the legalese I've shamelessly copied and pasted above. There are only so many situations and new ideas one could dream within the H.P. universe; almost everything has been written about in fan-fiction, and I couldn't possibly hope to read and know all fan-fics posted on the web.

Therefore, I claim no property over these ideas and adventures, nor have I intentionally copied or appropriated material from other writers. Some concepts incorporated in this story might be property of better writers, and I apologize for not crediting them because I truly couldn't track all of them down...

* * *

**Kindred Rivers**

**Chapter 1: Call of the Forest**

They are gone. They aren't gone. They are there. They aren't there. He could summon them, he could talk with them. He couldn't summon or talk to them. Not any longer, not without the stone. He's here. He isn't here. Has he ever been here?

Flowing, unbidden images, clear as a nurturing Summer day and terrible as a devastating Autumn storm invaded his mind. The dead heroes, the living villains. The losers. He lost. He won. He didn't really know.

Blood. Dried, washed or caked upon the walls and the floors. Shards of metal, flesh and spirit lay everywhere Harry Potter looked. It vindicated him. It oppressed him. He was going mad.

Was he bred for a purpose? Chosen by destiny? Where does freedom fit in all this? He never knew freedom. He always knew freedom. It was that which he couldn't have, that which he longed for and ultimately blamed Voldemort for denying it to him.

Tom Riddle. He sought freedom from death, yet never freed himself from the world itself. Only death sets you free.

"Death," the raven-haired man repeated as he wandered the halls of Hogwarts. The castle denied him rest. It denied him choice and freedom.

He kept searching for it. The perfect spot. He kept roaming the halls, visiting the classrooms, haunting the secret passages and traipsing the stairs up and down. Harry couldn't find peace.

"Death," he whispered again. And again. And again when his fingers ran over a blood stained tapestry.

People eventually stopped paying attention to him. Ginny had left along with Ron. Luna and Neville had left as well. Hermione had left. They had once dragged and apparated him somewhere, telling him about his need to be there. Somewhere he didn't remember, for something he didn't understand.

Harry had apparated back to the gates of the school at once. Though the gates hadn't granted him peace.

People stopped trying to speak to him, to make his naked, glassy eyes focus on their faces. He didn't need his spectacles any longer either. The blurs had no faces. He didn't want to see faces. The faces couldn't understand why, how or when. "Harry was fine," the anonymous whispering voices said, "but then, all of the sudden, he's gone mad!"

It wasn't sudden. It was deliberate, a conscious choice, a glimpse of freedom. Harry craved for more of it.

Perhaps the centaurs could do it for him. Mars had risen and fallen, after all. Yes, they might do it for him. Unless the castle agreed and granted him a better place to rest. He found a shoelace on the floor, lonely, orphaned of both shoe and twin. Just like George. Just like Teddy. Just like himself. He found a scrap of parchment on the floor, torn from a book that was now forever incomplete, just like Hogwarts. Just like himself.

Harry couldn't sleep, he needed to find the perfect spot. It was there somewhere. Only death sets you free.

* * *

He recognized Headmistress McGonagall's anguished cry. He'd heard her scream for him from Hagrid's arms weeks ago. He never told her how much he loved her too.

"Love," he thought, "such a wonderful and terrible thing."

A tug of magic interrupted his contact against the cold marble floor. He missed the floor. How did she find him? It was impossible to be found by chance; someone ratted him out. Kreacher perhaps. He'd need a word with the senile house-elf.

His perfect spot was ruined. Violated, desecrated, ruthlessly invaded. Freedom was denied to him again.

The bed he was soon levitated to was much too comfortable, the bedsheets much too clean and the pillow much too soft. He didn't like it. The cold marble floor was better. He was forced to drink, and to lay on his back, and relieved of his clothes. He was told to rest and to feel better; he'd missed being told what to do. Harry could always find a perfect spot later anyway.

As he drank one vile potion after another, Harry recognized blood-replenishing and dreamless sleep draughts, among other foul-tasting concoctions worthy of Snape himself. Him, he didn't look forward to seeing so much.

"Sleep well, Mr Potter," someone said and his world faded to black.

* * *

It could have been hours, days or weeks later. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that the sun was in his eyes and he didn't like it one bit, so he tossed and turned, annoyed at the golden chariot for reminding him he was here, when he had no right to be. Harry grunted "go away!" and pulled a pillow to his face, attracting the attention of the Hogwarts Healer, Madame Pomfrey.

"Up Mr Potter, up I say!" she commanded and pulled the covers out of him.

A conditioned reflex to protect his dignity made him snap both arms forward and either hide his private bits or pull the cover up again. He had to settle for covering himself with both hands.

"Nothing there I haven't already seen, Mr Potter. Now get up and get dressed, the Headmistress awaits you in her office."

Grumbling about this being the first time Madame Pomfrey ever rushed him _out_ of the Hospital Wing instead of fussing for him to stay, Harry obeyed and groped for his glasses. They were repaired and folded neatly next to his wand, both resting over the bundle of glistening, silvery fabric that is his Cloak of Invisibility. A Deathly Hallow.

A knot in his throat made it hard to breathe for a moment, until he turned his face away and walked to a chair to retrieve his washed, pressed and folded clothes and cloak. He donned them in no time and then extended a wary arm to grab his magical items from the bedside table.

"Do you need an escort or can we trust you to your devices, Mr Potter?"

Harry scowled at the healer and bit down his tongue to stem the flow of choice words he wanted to tell her. "No madam, I can find the way by myself," he stated instead.

Hogwarts was emptier and renewed. "How much time did I spend in the infirmary?" he wondered, scowling at the nosey portraits and extending his senses to find some sign of life. Not that he really wanted to find any. The corridor in front of him displayed shiny new suits of armour and cleaned tapestries, a polished floor that would have Filch the caretaker grinning like a fool, and new wooden benches lining the hallway for pupils to sit and relax.

He wanted to be with them, the ones that would never see the new benches. The ones who would miss their son cramming last minute information on the goblin wars from the twelfth century, or share his first kiss under the mistletoe, or find a loo by accident in the seventh floor across from Barnabas the Barmy and his trolls.

The knot in his throat returned, and fog blurred his eyes and the invisible fist squeezing his heart tightened its grip. Suddenly he wasn't here any longer. He wasn't there either, he was lacking, incomplete, longing for a world that couldn't be and swimming against the current in the river of fate. He wanted to taste freedom again.

"I've gotta ask him. It's the right thing to do..." Harry spoke to no one, before turning on his heel and running out of the castle. Hogwarts was accommodating for the first time in weeks, aligning marble stairs and opening hallway doors for him.

He rushed out the front steps, ignoring the glossy new double door leading to the Great Hall, and headed for the Forbidden Forest. Harry ran around the lake, picking up speed he didn't knew he had on the way, jumped over Dumbledore's white tomb and fell swiftly on the other side, bouncing once to regain his step and pick up speed again.

He jumped into the forest as if it were the safest place in the world, ignoring the branches cutting his face and the roots tripping his feet. He had to find it. He needed to ask him.

Hooves followed his enhanced strides, multiple arachnid eyes watched over his fluid motion, beasts of all kinds ran away from Harry out of fear or ran closer to him out of curiosity. He paid them no mind, he had to ask him.

"Accio Gaunt's ring!" he yelled, instinctively knowing the Resurrection Stone wouldn't answer his magical summon.

Standing in the clearing of his death, he snatched the shining ring out the air with one hand as if it were a simple snitch. The forest grew weary, agitated for what it would witness again. Harry needed to ask him.

* * *

Summer at the Burrow became a time to reflect and to come to terms with life as they knew it. They fought for their lives little more than a month ago and yet they couldn't truly remember everything they did. Their individual experience was made complete only by learning of what others had witnessed them doing during those horrible days leading to the end of an era. Weasleys stood together and helped one another, be them Weasleys by blood or honorary.

Molly kept herself always busy preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner. Otherwise she was busy cleaning dishes and doing manual house chores. Her wand, however, remained untouched deep inside a drawer in her bedside table.

Watching his wife punish herself was heartbreaking for Arthur; he didn't understand, or didn't want to understand. He wanted to put his family back together but only Molly could do it. And she needed to be put back together herself first.

"Molly dear?" he called from the tattered couch where he sat reading the Daily Prophet, gently running a hand over his daughter Ginny's hair, while she leaned back sitting on the floor playing with Arnold, her pygmy puff.

"Yes Arthur? Do you need something, another cup of tea and biscuits? I'm baking a few--"

"Why don't you join us for a minute, dear? I-- We miss you..." he said in a tearful voice, and patted the couch next to him.

Molly sighed and wiped her hands over her apron, looking torn between acquiescing to her husband and tending to the many chores and baking she still had to do. She didn't want to fall, she needed to be strong and be an example for her family. She had cried so much, of course she had, but the time to cry was over, it was time to go on and she devoted herself to doing what she did best: Tending to her family home and feeding her husband, sons and daughter.

All her sons except one. Fred was dead.

Fred was dead and she killed for it. Her daughter was threatened and she killed for it. Her family was torn apart and she killed for it. Thinking too much was dangerous, that was why Molly kept herself busy, she couldn't deal with personal guilt when her own son had died. It was insulting to his memory.

"Mollywobbles, please?" Arthur pleaded softly, dropping the newspaper and extending his hand to her.

Arthur had already dealt with his rage, the scorched crater where his shed and muggle collection once stood was proof of it. He'd asked for indefinite leave from the Ministry as well, which was granted but he knew the government wouldn't hold his position vacant for much longer. Arthur didn't care, he could beg for work later, his family was more important right now.

"I... I feel so... Why do I feel so _wretched_ for it?" the matronly Weasley woman sobbed and sat next to her husband, who promptly hugged her and kissed her forehead.

"Because you're a good witch, and a wonderful woman," Arthur told her while rocking her back and forth. "Because even a justified killing took a little piece of your soul away... Don't dwell on it Mollywobbles, because Fred knows... Fred knows you can feel guilt for it and still honour his memory."

"Dad's right, mum... We all understand," Ginny added, and then cocked her head to face her mother. "She deserved it, you know?"

Molly shook her head affirmatively and wrapped her daughter in a hug, thankful for her wonderful family. She rested for some fifteen minutes on the couch and then extricated herself from Arthur's embrace, smiling at him lovingly. Climbing the stairs to their bedroom, she sighed and reached for her wand. Soon after, the abandoned knitting needles downstairs sprung back to life.

* * *

Meanwhile, outside the Burrow, a lonely man walked the edge of an unkempt garden, kicking loose stones and foolish garden gnomes. His long red hair flowed back and forth with every shake of his head, and his lips moved silently in synchrony with his thoughts.

He did his best and gave his all to avenge his friends and family. Hermione said so. Mum said so. Yet his best wasn't enough for Harry. Ron felt betrayed by his friend; he was perfectly fine one day and then, out of the blue, he looked into his eyes and saw he was gone. Why did he leave?

"What the bloody hell's wrong with you?" he repeated the question out loud, as he did every day since Fred's funeral. Harry was gone. And Ron had known right then how Hermione and Harry had felt when he abandoned them in the middle of nowhere.

Three times had they apparated to bring Harry back from Hogwarts, and he almost splinched himself again at the last effort. Yet he wasn't there, they'd bring his body but not Harry himself. And then he'd apparate away again. Ron had shook him and screamed at him and pleaded with him, but he wasn't there.

"He stood up the whole ceremony, staring at _nothing_," he yelled and another unfortunate gnome was thrown a hundred yards away with a swift kick. "Why did you leave us?"

Ron hadn't felt this sickness in his chest when Hagrid brought his friend from the forest, proclaimed dead by You-Know-Who. This time Harry's choice was intentional, he was fine and he chose to go away, betraying Ginny, Hermione and him. And yet, no matter how much Ron wished to focus on Harry's betrayal, he couldn't help but dwell on how much pain he must have caused his friends during the horcrux hunt; if this was how they felt, he wouldn't have forgiven himself nor taken himself back.

With another swift motion, two more gnomes were relocated to the other side of the road.

* * *

Over the hills, a few miles north of Ottery St Catchpole, father wizard and daughter witch spent time together rebuilding the quaint house they once lived in. That they survived to meet again was something the Lovegoods would forever cherish, home or no home.

"Daddy, why can't you be free?"

Xenophilius stopped playing with the furniture around their new pyramidal kitchen and turned to face his precious Luna. "How do you mean, dearest?"

Luna pointed at the golden medallion on his chest, and then turned dreamy eyes up to the swinging trees. She didn't like the whispers brought forth by the wind. The medallion consisted of a triangle held by one point to a chain, the geometrical shape encased a perfect circle and a vertical line ran through its middle from top to bottom.

"The quests you carry on, the burdens you chain yourself to... Why can't you shed them?"

The eccentric wizard paused to consider his daughter's words. He was still weary of the horrors Luna must have suffered but wouldn't share, and it killed him inside to see her unable to trust him like she once did. Before the Dark Lord returned; before she met one Harry Potter. "Seeking the Hallows is an honourable quest, as is looking for still undiscovered and undocumented magical creatures. I couldn't abandon these goals, dearest..."

Wind swept the trees again, and Luna left father talking alone inside their new kitchen to watch them swinging back and forth. He betrayed her friends because he wasn't free. Because he chose the wrong path. Because mother's death locked him inside his obsessions and threw away the key.

"Only death sets you free," she kept hearing again and again. Luna didn't agree; she didn't like the whispers in the wind.

* * *

Potting, pruning, planting. Pleasant activities that distracted the Longbottom scion from his new-found hero status. "Hero for nothing," he ruefully whispered, "for surviving Voldemort and his megalomania..."

"_Neville!_" rang the enhanced voice belonging to the elder Longbottom, formidable Augusta.

Neville was startled and dropped his wand. Old habits die hard. He sighed and walked briskly out of the greenhouse and into the manor, looking for the source of the sonorus spelled throat. "She's probably in the tea room," he mused and turned swiftly around.

Augusta was sipping on a warm cup and had the Daily Prophet open on a spindly desk next to her. The fire in the hearth was still fading from green to orange, a clear sign of an active floo connection. Because she was the only occupant of the room, Neville concluded it was merely a floo-call.

"Come here my boy," she commanded, leaving no room for negotiation.

He approached and grandmother Augusta grabbed his face with both hands, using a pair of long, wrinkled fingers to pry his left eyelids open and peer intently into his startled eyes.

"What-- What are you doing?" he managed to ask while she did the same to his right eye.

"Headmistress McGonagall called me about Mr Potter. It seems he's missing, again, and she confided to some rather ... troubling symptoms he began displaying these past weeks."

Neville relaxed and took a seat across his grandmother. He'd seen Harry for the Lupins funeral, and he'd noticed that he wasn't there. That husk standing there was _not_ Harry Potter. Had Potterwatch continued to broadcast, they'd have issued a missing bulletin right then and there.

He did his part in the resistance, undermining the Death Eaters running Hogwarts as much as he could, and then, blind-sided by fate, he was put in position to destroy what Hermione would later explain to him as being a part of Voldemort's soul! He just wanted to live, and the sword appeared and that ugly snake was threatening him. Neville was no hero, he only wanted to live.

The Longbottoms continued to sip their tea in silence, wishing for the war to be over at last.

* * *

On the other side of the world, in Queensland, Australia, an anxious woman leaned on the wooden railing of a porch facing the dense tropical jungle. She cradled her head between her hands and then drank the last contents of her wine stem glass, only to refill it with more sweet late harvest Muscat.

Hermione had come to find the Grangers, her memory-modified parents who were safe and happy away from the horrible world magical Britain had become. They weren't happy to know they were happy. They came to themselves after an exhausting session of spell casting, and their former memories mingled with the new memories of life in Australia.

Both parents were horrified. They yelled and demanded explanations Hermione couldn't in good conscience give them, for it would mean revealing and reliving all that happened. She didn't want to remember all that happened.

The schism between them was almost complete by the time she returned home at the end of her sixth year, yet she still loved her muggle parents and wished only for them to be safe. If she were truthful to herself, she'd admit they were a burden she didn't need in the upcoming war. That schism was complete now.

"I miss my wizards," she told the moonless night and transfigured a log on the ground into a comfortable recliner. Hermione turned her eyes to the dense jungle and wondered if she could find a crumple-horned snorkack in there and bring it back to England. Luna would be proud of her.

She shook her head and thought "it must be the wine," before tilting the bottle and spilling its contents on the ground, and then hurling it at the nearest tree where it shattered into a thousand shards. She would not retreat into herself. She would _not_ do what's easy and leave like Harry did.

Apparating him back and forth from Hogwarts and then petrifying him for Fred's burial was bad enough, but when he stood in a catatonic state for Remus and Tonk's service, she wanted to hex him so badly it hurt. Hermione fought the tears and the screams then; the same anguish that had ripped her heart apart when Ron left them alone in the Forest of Dean had gripped her soul when she looked into Harry's eyes and saw he wasn't there.

Ron abandoned her, and she forgave him. Her parents abandoned her, and she's forgiving them. Harry abandoned her, and she knows she'll forgive him.

Hermione was used to accept and forgive whatever people gave her in matters of human relationships, she was raised that way and despite everything she always acted the same. "Well then, not any longer... No more passivity. No more hoping blindly and putting myself out there... Damn bloody wine," she complained and stood up, stumbling a little and then walking resolutely into the jungle. She had a snorkack to find.


	2. Chapter 2: Confluence

**Chapter 2: Confluence**

Inside a magical castle surrounded by a dangerous lake, a forbidden forest and insurmountable Scottish Highland peaks overlooking the wizarding village of Hogsmeade, Headmistress McGonagall rubbed her temples while waiting for the available staff to answer a summon to her office. Harry hadn't arrived as requested after leaving the infirmary and some portraits relayed that he was last seen rushing out of Hogwarts at a deadly run.

"Worry not, Minerva. I'm certain Harry is merely out for a flight, you do remember his love for broomstick flying?"

Minerva McGonagall hadn't even spared a glance at the portrait of the deceased white-bearded Headmaster, but her temper betrayed her at last. "He's missing again, Albus! Open your eyes and ears for once and understand my words. Harry. Is. Not. Well!"

"Allow the boy to enjoy his freedom. Merlin knows I've denied him much of it," the portrayed Dumbledore spoke, "He has saved an entire world, after all, and now he is simply happy!"

A deep growl characteristic of large felines issued from the current Headmistress' throat, and she turned to face Dumbledore's likeness squarely. "Do you want to know how I found him two weeks ago? How a frantic house-elf dragged me into the most ancient and filthy parts of Hogwarts to find Harry sprawled on cold marble floor?"

Minerva took a deep breath and continued her tirade, "I'll tell you Albus. He was _drowning_ in a pool of his own blood! He-- Merlin he could have died there if I'd been five minutes too late, _do you believe a happy person would do that to himself?_"

Taken aback by these words, Dumbledore sagged inside his frame and blinked. "I do not understand... Harry and I spoke after Tom's defeat, he agreed to do as I told him and the boy was fine."

"Hence we arrive at the crux of the matter, Albus. You _told_ him what to do. _We_ have been telling him what to do all his miserable life!" she exclaimed and sat back on her chair. "Harry never spoke of what happened in the forest. I can only imagine, from what Ms Granger explained to me regarding a certain prophecy and those abominations Riddle created."

A gasp sounded and Dumbledore's beard twitched.

"Ah, that's right. You asked Harry never to reveal their existence, didn't you Albus? You set him on wild goose chase, trusting the universe to fulfil a ridiculous prophecy uttered by a deranged woman all by itself?"

The portrayed Headmaster stood straighter before replying, "In my defence, Minerva, I can proudly say Ronald, Hermione and Harry exceeded my expectations and that I gave them the tools to succeed."

"Tools to succeed?" McGonagall asked. She had sat with Hermione for a full-disclosure afternoon talk, in which her former pupil recounted their perilous journey. "A children's story book? A trinket for an unstable boy and a useless _memento_?" she kept asking with an ever louder voice. "My dear Albus, our complete destruction didn't come to pass only because of Riddle's own misjudgement. Do _not_ flatter yourself..."

All the other portraits stood to attention, either frowning at such disrespect for one of their own or simply trying to understand the discussion. Inside the newest painting, however, one of the briefest Headmasters ever to serve kept a smug smirk in his painted lips despite the fact he was still in the process of animating himself.

"As you wish, Minerva. I sincerely hope you find Harry then..."

With a huff, the Headmistress turned and called for whoever was knocking her door to enter. The door cracked open and Madame Pomfrey entered, followed by Hagrid and, unfortunately, Sybil Trelawney the Divination Professor.

"Sybil, what can I help you with?" McGonagall asked with a pained sigh.

"The cards, Minerva, the cards! I've read them for that poor, poor boy... The Magician and the High Priestess fell before Death... And then," Trelawney paused for the suspense effect, "The Lovers!"

McGonagall tilted her head at her staffed professor and bit down a few choice remarks, instead opting for a simple "Is there anything you might extract from this ... divination of yours that can actually help us locate Mr Potter?"

"He's fallen in love with death, don't you see?"

Fighting the urge to bang her forehead against the solid wooden table, she politely dismissed her. "Yes, well. Thank you Sybil... Hagrid, did you find any sign of him anywhere?"

"No, I've found 'em set o' footsteps by the lake, but 'em are too wide ter belong ter Harry. I'm sorry Headmistress!" the half-giant wailed and blew his nose.

"Nor has he returned to the infirmary," added Madame Pomfrey.

"What's ter say Harry just don't wanna be found?" asked Hagrid, folding his kerchief around the other side.

"I understand Mr Potter is an adult, and free to do as he pleases," the Headmistress told her friends, "but I'll be damned if I let him succeed in what he intended to do to himself the week before last..."

The strained silence was broken by a cough and a voice. "If I may contribute, Headmistress," spoke the portrait belonging to Phineas Nigellus, former headmaster, "you might find Potter by scrying for his whereabouts?"

"We do not possess any traces of his magical core in order to do so, but thank you all the same Phineas," said McGonagall, wishing they had at least a lock of hair for a weak tracking spell that might point them in the right direction. She was almost about to suggest releasing an owl and following it on broomsticks.

"That, may not be entirely correct," Dumbledore interrupted, drawing everyone's attention to him, the annoying twinkle in his eyes still present even on flat canvas.

The room fell silent, except for Hagrid's sobbing, and McGonagall turned ever so slowly to scowl at her predecessor. It wasn't school policy to keep tracking charms or collect magic samples from any pupil, unless required for healing procedures, and she had always followed Harry's recurrent stays in the infirmary, so she knew it had never been necessary for him. "Care to explain yourself, Albus?"

"This kind of information is quite sensitive, I'm afraid," he replied, looking at the assembled professors in turn.

"Very well. Poppy, Hagrid, thank you for your help. Sybil, if you please?" she said and escorted them outside, before closing the door and marching up to the wall. "Explain."

"We're fortunate enough to--"

"Wait... Albus I'm sorry for doing this," McGonagall said with honest regret in her voice, "I am commanding you, by the power granted through my position as Headmistress of Hogwarts, to reveal everything related to Harry Potter, including information you possess regarding Riddle's abominations."

The portrayed wizard suddenly aged beyond his years, Dumbledore's likeness was bound to obey the acting headmaster by magic itself. "You may wish to bring me into your quarters for privacy, Minerva," he said and removed his painted hat, before turning solemn eyes to her.

The Headmistress levitated his frame out of the wall and into her assigned chambers, leaning the portrait against a bottle of Ogden's Finest 27 Year Old Firewhiskey and sat in front of him, waiting for his words.

Dumbledore began by relaying the exact text of a prophecy he witnessed before Harry was even born and how he tried everything to protect the families most likely to fit the description. Described how he had failed and how he was forced to choose the lesser of evils by placing him under the care of Petunia Dursley because of blood protections that kept Voldemort away.

He explained his surprise at finding Sirius Black's innocence so many years later, and his desire to keep knowledge of the prophecy away from Harry and his constant link to Voldemort. Dumbledore explained everything Harry had told him about what happened every year in Hogwarts; possessed professors, basilisks, murdering traitors, necromancy rituals, fake visions leading to a Ministry raid, the headmaster's death and surviving the extraction of a horcrux.

The former headmaster explained his suspicions about Riddle's quest for immortality by creating horcruxi and how he identified almost all of their vessels. Dumbledore explained how a children's tale is not a myth but true magical power, for the Deathly Hallows are real and the prophecy allowed Harry to collect them. Furthermore, Harry was a horcrux and only death could set him free.

Albus Dumbledore confessed Harry had much to die for, yet little to live for.

In the hours it took for the story to be told, as well as many, many questions to be answered, McGonagall felt her respect and admiration for Harry grow even more, yet she also felt shame and regret. She wondered how much she'd helped make young Harry's life more miserable.

In the end, however, those feelings gave way to anger. "You despicable old fool! Using his love and righteousness to sacrifice himself willingly? Was _that_ the best you could think of?" McGonagall yelled. "I can't-- I cannot deal with this right now. Where's Mr Potter's magic trace?"

Dumbledore hesitated, before saying "You will hate me forever once you learn of this, I'm afraid."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, "Albus? What have you done?"

* * *

"Breathe." In and out, simple and natural. "Breathe," he commanded again, fighting the memories of the dead.

Harry had left Hogwarts behind and plunged into the wild, forcing his way forward like a swollen river following the curves of the earth. He'd called for the stone and proceeded to tilt the balance, breaching the invisible and supposedly impenetrable veil between worlds in the same forest and in the same clearing where he willingly sacrificed himself. Last time it was an act of resignation, of deliverance and of love. This time, Harry wanted answers.

"Breathe," he whispered again and fisted the Resurrection Stone. He needed to ask him.

The wind had picked up again, the noon sun beaming down cast the shortest shadows of the day and all manner of creatures took refuge in the shadow of the trees. Harry was hunched over, his head bent to the ground and one knee deep into the earth. The Hogwarts cloak that was clean and wrinkle-free this morning were now stained and filled with twigs and ripped in some parts, as were his clothes and battered trainers.

He waited and stilled his breath, eyes closed and a thousand thoughts swirling through his messy-haired head. The memories didn't stop.

"Harry Potter sir?"

Silence, and a smile.

"_Harry Potter sir!_ I is so happy to see yous, Harry Potter sir!"

"Hello Dobby," he greeted the silvery house-elf.

"Oh, but Dobby isn't to bes here... Harry Potter sir must not calls for Dobby. Dobby pains for Harry Potter sir..." the small creature said and used his hands to pull both his ears down to the sides of his face.

Harry then sat on the ground, occupying the same spot where he was struck down by an unforgivable killing curse, and toyed with the cracked stone mounted on a golden ring. He knew he had control over Dobby's renewed presence on this plane, despite the elf's knowledge that he isn't supposed to be here. Harry believed the same to be true about himself; Harry wasn't supposed to be here.

"What's it like-- What does it feel to be free, Dobby?"

Lifting his face to meet the translucent tennis-ball-sized eyes in front of him, Harry met his dead friend's disbelieving gaze. Dobby had been an obsessed and slightly deranged house-elf, yet his heart was in the right place, and it shattered into a thousand pieces at the despaired sight of his Harry Potter sir sitting in front of him.

"I is free-elf in Dobby's heart and mind," the dead house-elf replied. "I is choosing to be frees even before Harry Potter sir trick bad Malfoyses into giving Dobby clothes... Dobby is frees because I has choice to die for Harry Potter sir... I feels good to be free. Dobby is very happy, and I is more happier to serve and to help Harry Potter and Harry Potter's friends, because I is doing it by choice!"

Harry listened carefully, trying to understand what it meant to be free. "Then why can't I choose to--"

"Dobby knows Harry Potter sir is sad, but Harry Potter sir doesn't wants freedom. What Harry Potter sir wants is not to feel anything at all," Dobby stated with a tone of finality and judgement in his voice Harry had never heard from him while the elf was alive.

Startled by these words, the wizard quelled a surge of anger and looked away from his dead friend's penetrating eyes. "No, Dobby is wrong!" he yelled, "I want-- I want to be free to feel the good things! Love and friendship and happiness..."

Dobby bounced on the balls of his feet, not knowing what else to do to comfort and bring his wizard friend away from the path he was travelling. He watched Harry shake his head and a sudden spark flickered in his dull, empty eyes for an instant before dying back again. The concerned dead house-elf couldn't do anything more than witness the internal struggle.

"Only death sets you free," Harry kept hearing those five words, urging him to do the deed.

"Yes! That's what I want!" he screamed back at the voice, "I want to be free with the ones that are gone..."

"Only death sets you free."

"The living are better off without me..." he tried to argue, justifying his actions somehow.

"Only death sets you free."

"I'll still feel sorrow on the other side..." he realized with a start, "I'll still crave for freedom on the other side because I've never been free..."

"Only death sets you free."

"Do I have the power to be free like Dobby was? Can I always make a choice?"

"Only death sets you free."

"I can choose life or death, freedom or bondage, love or hate and everything in between... I can actually choose to forgive or punish myself for the dead!"

"Only death sets you free."

"I choose-- I choose to be the master of my own devices. I choose to be the master of my own life."

"You _are_ the Master of Death."

Harry kept his head low, eyes forcefully shut and hands gripping at chunks of his ebony hair, locked in a battle of wills against his own magic, against himself within the vast realm of Harry Potter.

He never sensed the elder centaur approaching with perfect silent strides, angry at the human intrusion, furious at the wizard's unbalancing magic. The centaur pulled a selected arrow from his quiver, aimed his ancient bow and tensed the string. Silent as the breeze. Ten feet from Harry's back he stood, and with a steady breath, released the deathly arrow straight to his heart.

Pain. A bout of pain rivalling that of the cruciatus curse shot through his spine and spread over bone, muscle and skin, invading his limbs and crawling to the base of Harry's skull. He fell forward and lost his grip on the Resurrection Stone, releasing Dobby from this world. He didn't have a chance to thank him for explaining what it means to be free.

Looking down at himself, Harry watched half of the golden arrow protruding from his chest, its sharp arrowhead crafted from the hardest diamond now covered in blood. His blood. He knew the centaurs could do it for him. The world slowly closed around him while he pondered on the irony of how his former desire would be granted right after he'd decided not to die just yet. "Fate's a bitch..." he whispered.

A minute later, the elder centaur sighed and rested the ancient bow across his chest, before twirling a few braided tendrils of his beard with his fingers and gently galloping towards the fallen wizard. The herd leaders had been summoned shortly after the great evil was defeated for the falling of Mars and its implications, and they had unanimously requested the highest honourable death for the hallowed one that would trespass their domain again.

Death by ceremonial arrow was reserved only for the greatest of beings.

Chiron embraced his task as it was written in the stars, and promised the eternal heavens to avoid his prior mistake of teaching mankind in the ways of magic. However, the expected power that would breach the sacred forest had sparked his curiosity with its remarkably ambiguous nature, suffering the antagonistic duality of being both dead and alive at the same time. His arrow would most certainly put an end to that.

He looked into the forest to see the herd leaders and lower centaurs bow their heads and retreat, except for Firenze, whose sorrow was heart wrenching. Deciding to allow the lower centaur a moment of reconciliation with the ways of the universe, Chiron circled the fallen wizard and watched him struggle to stay alive.

This intrigued Chiron deeply, for the human _should_ be already dead, his aim was perfect and no living creature could survive a ceremonial golden arrow through the heart once it struck. His healer nature prompted him to touch the inferior being, and he was surprised to feel a beating heart.

"How can this be?"

"Oh, you know ... decided not to die and such ... arrow hurts like hell though," Harry answered between clenched teeth.

The mighty centaur blinked. His braided beard twitched and he suddenly squared his back. "A child crossed over the looking glass, dead in life and alive in death; neither here nor there it was, the mighty river blurs its path..." whispered Chiron, before bending slightly and looking at the bleeding wizard again. "A specular reflection!"

He had done as was demanded by the stars and required by duty. He had obeyed the signs and performed the deed, but the result was quite different from what was expected in the end. "Such are the ways of the universe," he mused and twirled a lock of beard around his calloused index finger.

With another spasm of pain, the wizard coughed more blood and bile, and with strength beyond understanding extended a shaky hand to lift a human trinket off the sacred forest ground. Chiron observed his unfulfilled kill place the ring in its right hand and aim for the magical rod its kind relied so much upon.

"No!" he roared and stomped the wizard's hand with a polished front hoof, breaking bones and marring already scarred flesh. The centaur picked the wand and threw it deep into the forest, then walked up to Harry and smirked. He lifted the wizard by his tattered clothes with one arm, and using the other to grab the golden arrow's shaft, pulled it out with all his might.

The human screams echoed around the clearing and he lost consciousness, falling into a heap on the ground once Chiron released him. The centaur regarded the crumpled form once more before raising his voice, "Firenze, lower centaur from the Herd of Magorian," he called, "you have sullied yourself with this wizard before. Carry him again, and bring him to the Summer Meadows. Be swift as the wind."

No sooner had Firenze done as instructed and lifted Harry onto his back, a winged beast mounted by a human female came into view over the clearing. The elder centaur growled and brought a horn to his mouth, issuing a call for his herds to come forward and engage in battle. The quickest of centaurs galloped out of the forest with bows tense and arrows at the ready, firing at the airborne intruders while Chiron sprinted with impossible speed towards the meadows of the east.

* * *

Earlier that same day, in the wizard home known as the Burrow, life went on and time passed, every occupant healing or coping according to his or her own nature, unaware of the events happening in and around Hogwarts. None had seen or heard from Harry for weeks.

"Oh, look, a flying gnome!"

"Bollocks! My brother must've finished lunch already. The food's all gone by now..."

Luna and Ginny were sitting on the fence, feet dangling in the air. They'd been meeting sporadically, rather the Lovegood young woman had taken the habit of visiting once or twice a week. The youngest Weasley never left the Burrow any longer.

"It looks more like a Danish yellow-bellied trixie though, do you realize they can jump about fifty times their size?" Luna commented, earning a muffled "yeah, right" from her fence companion.

Ginny had waited for so long. She knew _he_ would only notice her again by being the hero, by finding her own way of fighting Riddle. She did as best she could, and enjoyed it not only because of Harry, but also because it was the right thing to do. It had frightened her then that perhaps she didn't need Harry after all, she could now be her own saviour and do it for the people she loved, not only for him.

In the end, the monster died. Harry had come for her and saved the world, and she fell in love all over again. And now she kept waiting, and there were no enemies to fight and impress him; there were no dangers to save her from either. Ginny kept waiting and spending time doing trivial things like playing with her pet puffskein and solving Witch Weekly's crosswords.

Harry would come back one day.

"How can you stand it, Luna? Waiting for Ron to grow up and notice you instead of Hermione?" she asked because she'd seen the efforts the blond-haired girl made to breach her brother's thick skull and have him notice her, and Luna had visited them regularly after the end of the war, which convinced her that she was waiting for him as well. Just like Ginny was waiting for Harry.

The blonde turned a dreamy face to her companion, keeping an ear on the whispering wind. "The hall of mirrors can play one too many tricks, Ginny. You're still waiting for a reflection to become true instead of looking at the source."

"Huh?"

"I'm going to help Ronald with his trixies," Luna said and hopped off the fence, skipping to the back garden where Ron kept muttering and kicking the unfortunate creatures.

Ron had been in a right state for weeks now. "Harry's a goner, Hermione said she _needed_ to find her parents and bolted off to Australia, and to make matters worse, Loony keeps coming to visit and blurt nonsense every other day," he whined upon seeing her approaching him. "I'd reckon her time in the Malfoy Manor dungeons finally screwed her up for good."

"Hello Ronald. Heard anything from Harry and Hermione yet?"

"No."

"You do realize the Danish yellow-bellied trixies don't need your help to jump that high around the fields, don't you?"

"Right..."

Luna kept matching Ron's longer steps with her shorter legs and pacing the garden along with him, while he did his best to ignore her very existence. "Hermione would truly appreciate all this pacing you're doing, Ronald. It's really quite appealing in a physical sense."

"Yeah..."

"Wrackspurts must've gotten to your head last night, Ronald. Your answers are too short and weird."

"Luna, just get out of here and leave me the bloody hell alone!" Ron complained and kicked another gnome.

She blinked and stopped pacing. "Okay. Let me know if Harry and Hermione send news, please," Luna answered, and skipped out of the Burrow back towards her home a mile away. A third of the way back, the wind shifted direction and she hurried up, feeling a shiver run down her spine.

Being used to giving into her intuitive nature, she stormed into her bedroom and packed her travelling gear, picked her new nine inch apple wood wand with selenite hare's mane core, courtesy of Mr Ollivander, and donned her trekking cloak.

"I'm leaving for a hunt, father. Take care and remember to close the windows against the blibbering humdingers!"

"Certainly dearest. Have fun!"

Because they had no floo connection, Luna risked a long distance apparation. She pictured the gates of Hogwarts in her mind and her eyes lost their dreamy, unfocused air after a moment. Determined as she was, however, she still managed to get slightly splinched, leaving much of her long blond hair behind.

"Oh poo!" she complained before casually conjuring a hand mirror and, with a few flicks of her wand, cutting the few remaining locks of her hair, mimicked the short hairstyle the late Nymphadora used to wear.

"No good comes from entering the Forbidden Forest looking like a dishevelled hag," she thought and checked her reflection out.

She waved hello at the guardian stone boars and walked into the grounds, making a beeline towards Hagrid's hut and the woods behind it, pausing to pick a dead ferret, she used a silver blade to gut and skin it. A couple hundred yards further, she found the pack of thestrals she was looking for frolicking about.

An inhuman call issued from her throat and one of the youngest winged black beasts approached, its white eyes fixed on Luna's own. She ripped a chunk of flesh from the skinned ferret and offered it to the thestral she decided to name Raisin, who gulped it in one quick bite.

"Will you please take me somewhere?" she whispered into the beast's ear. It shook a reptilian head and lowered its wings, allowing Luna to mount it easily. "We're going Harry Hunting, so be prepared for the worse," she told it and dove her ankles into Raisin's sides, urging it to pick up speed and fly into the air.

Once airborne, Luna produced a small torn piece of cloth and brought it to the thestral's snout. Satisfied after a few sniffs and a lick, it pulled away and circled around, picking up a scent and diving towards it. They glided over the lake and made a swift pass over Dumbledore's tomb, before veering back to fly over the forest proper.

Enjoying the wind in her face, she let her thoughts wander back to the horrors the linked six had experienced. Without factual knowledge and yet intuitively grasping bits and pieces of what happened to each of them was just as painful as surviving the torture she was put under. Pain, fear, betrayal, uncertainty, heartbreak, denial. Not a single pleasant emotion ruled any of them at this time; her friends were as insane as she was.

Not learning of Hermione or Harry's fate for so many long weeks after the Dark Lord's extermination was unsettling. She cried for his pain and shuddered from her fear. Neville's denial of his heroism would only endanger his future and the Weasley siblings' feelings of betrayal and heartbreak were wrecking the friendship among the six. Her own uncertainty about what to live for and who to love and where to go from here was killing her slowly.

Raisin squeaked and gurgled at the same time, flapping more insistently and veering towards the oldest, densest parts of the forest. The wind carried a scream, and the scream brought tears to her eyes. "Harry?" she whispered, bending over the thestral to search for her friend. He saw his motionless form being thrust over a centaur's back in the middle of a clearing, and her arms hugged the flying creature to force it into landing.

An arrow zoomed by her side, followed by more wooden arrows she batted away with a defensive spell. In the meantime, the centaur carrying Harry had disappeared beneath the canopy of trees, and the game of Harry Hunting began in earnest. They could run and hide, but Raisin and Luna would _not_ be deterred.

She pulled the thestral by the neck and it flew up again, dodging more arrows and barrelling left in a move that left Luna squealing in glee. She dove her ankles into her leathery flying friend and urged Raisin to follow the centaur carrying Harry on his back, silently vowing to repay him for her rescue from Malfoy Manor.

* * *

The loud, strident lorikeet call rang through Hermione's skull like a Chinese gong pressed against her ear. She tossed and turned only to feel a sharp stab on her side, likely from the jagged edge of a stone or a fallen branch, since she was sprawled on the tropical jungle floors of Queensland.

She'd come to Australia looking for her parents, which she did, but once freed of the memory charms they couldn't stand the sight of her. That they didn't want to see her for a long while was quite clear.

"Shut up, you stupid _parrot_! Your _mother_ was a bloody turkey!" she yelled and shielded her eyes with one arm draped over.

Crawling up to her knees, she fought the painful headache and rubbed her face, groped around for her wand and spelled a mild rennervate on herself. Feeling rested and clear-headed at once, she stood up and looked around for her rented cabin. Only pristine rainforest greeted her eyes.

"Wonderful Granger, you've managed to get both drunk _and_ lost this time!" she mumbled and stomped her right foot on the moist ground.

The cabin she'd spent the last ten days was quite secluded by the edge of the jungle, but was still part of a larger vacation building complex, meaning lots of muggles around, especially during the day, which made it impossible to apparate back at least until past two in the morning.

Transfiguring a fern shrub into an egg-chair, she curled inside the black upholstered white shell and swung left and right, remembering her words from last night. "No more push-over Hermione for them," she'd decided, "but what if Harry and Ron don't like me if I change?"

She had always been the resilient person, ignoring others' opinion of her and proving everyone her worth, something she still did, but it was different when people she truly cared about began to believe Hermione would forgive everything and anything they did to her. She loved Ron, he was sweet and challenging and infuriating all at once, not to mention tall and handsome, but he took her for granted after their first kiss in Hogwarts and even had the gall of being angry at her for leaving to find her own parents!

She also loved Harry, she loved the little lost boy that shared the greater-than-life wizard behind that bespectacled face. He also took her for granted, maybe it was her own fault for always sticking with him, even if he'd never shown his appreciation for it. It was time to set the record straight, Hermione believed.

"Mum and dad made it very clear that they didn't want to see me again until they've decided what to do," she remembered and secretly hoped they returned to England, but one way or another she'd give them the time alone they wanted and wait for them to realize _they_ were at fault.

Hermione bit her lower lip and turned a full circle in the swivelling chair, worry etched in her face. "I'm going to need help bringing Harry back from whatever depths he's fallen into." Ron had tried yelling and shaking, Ginny was still waiting for her hero to finish the battle and return to her. She couldn't ask more of the Weasleys, since they had their own mourning to go through. Thinking of Fred made her cry again.

No, it was time to try a different approach, and she wondered if Luna could reach Harry like she used to be able to. Hermione admired her ethereal friend for it. In fact, the long days and nights she'd spent alone with a bottle of wine in her hand had revealed more than one truth. That she needed to be more forceful towards those she loved was one, but also that she craved for acceptance like a little girl behind her stubborn and opinionated mask. Despite being polar opposites, Luna had accepted her as a friend and only criticized that which was worthy of criticism; her narrow-mindedness. She loved her for it.

Why couldn't Harry see that his friends loved him? "It's like a river washed all the life away from him," she mused and spun on the egg-chair again. Harry needed to see an example of how to carry on living, someone who's experienced as much loss as he has... What he needed was Neville Longbottom!

Resolute and ready to begin her new quest, she planted her feet on the ground and stood up, threw caution and secrecy to the wind and apparated inside her cabin to pack and leave for Britain at once.

Pop!

"_Ahhh!_ Holy Mother of God, where'd you come from, woman?!" yelled the cleaning maid while aiming the dust sucking vacuum cleaner hose at her.

"Blast..." muttered Hermione, before calmly reaching for her wand and casting the only spell available for these kinds of situations. "Obliviate!"

After telling the maid to remember her leaving the bathroom instead of popping into existence out of thin air, she shooed her out and packed her trunk, shrunk it and then checked out. She had a light lunch and apparated into the hall of the Australian Department of Magic to procure an international portkey trip back to Britain.

She arranged and paid for a midnight portkey landing at ten in the morning in the London Ministry for Magic and sat to wait, holding the old tattered muggle sock with her fingertips only and sporting a wrinkled nose. It was a _very_ smelly sock they'd given her.

While Hermione waited, somewhere in England a portly wizard continued to hide inside his private greenhouse, escaping annoying reporters and crazed fans, denying his heroism and wondering how in Merlin's name could Harry stand all of this for so many years.

"_Neville!_"

"My goodness, the woman doesn't give a moment's rest... _Just a minute, Gran!_"

The Longbottom heir pushed a few vines to his left and walked into the manor, looking for his grandmother. He found her sitting in the sun room, enjoying a tray of sweet turkish delights and a small goblet of brandy, wearing a formidable canary-yellow robe with sparkling purple stars dancing over it.

"I had hoped your age and social standing would've precluded you from wearing a plant costume in broad daylight," she spat at him as soon as he entered the sunbathed room. Augusta needed to shake her grandson out of his stupor soon, and the news regarding Mr Potter's second disappearance was just the excuse she needed to put Neville back on the right track.

"Oh, this? It's a cloak-ivy creeper plant, I'm experimenting on a more sugar-resistant variety because this one will wither as soon as someone wearing it eats a chocolate frog or something sweet."

Augusta sighed and shook her head, before pushing a chair forward and telling Neville to sit. "The more things change, the more they stay the same," she spat at him without preamble, and then watched him intently while waiting for his reaction.

"Unless one could keep things similar, effecting change from elsewhere?" Neville replied after a moment of thought.

"I knew you had a good noggin inside that forgetful round head of yours. You are already poised for a position of leadership in the next hundred years of wizarding affairs, and from what little I've been told, Potter holds you in very high esteem as well?"

"I'd like to think he's a good friend. Or was, before what I saw at the funeral..." Neville told his grandmother. "He could've made an inferi look livelier and healthier, Gran."

Drinking the last of her brandy, Augusta tapped her long fingernails against the crystal goblet, making a disturbing staccato. "Who would you consider Potter's most trusted friend to be? One of the Weasley children?"

"No, that'd be Hermione. If anyone can bring Harry back to health it's her. Why do you ask?"

"Call her over the floo and request a formal meeting with her Head of Family. You must assist her in helping your friend Harry."

"That'd be difficult to arrange, given that she's a muggle-born," Neville explained briefly. "Besides, last I knew she was in Australia retrieving her parents."

"Then go to the ministry and find out where she is. And bring her back here for a meeting _before_ going to Hogwarts or anywhere else looking for Potter, do you understand? Use the Longbottom name to call favours if you must," Augusta instructed and dismissed her grandson with a lazy wave of her hand.

A swooshing sound of flame came from one of the many fireplaces in the manor, indicating Neville's departure. With a final tapping of her empty goblet, the elder witch nodded to herself and walked to the manor library. Once there, she prodded the weathered leather spine of the seventh book in the third row from the left of a select bookcase until it grew up in size, changed to a glossy black colour and slid out and into Augusta's open hand.

"Dark magic my pale, hairy, wrinkled buttocks!" she exclaimed with a wicked smile; and added a naughty laugh for good measure.

A few minutes earlier, deep beneath London streets, a young woman had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a room. Hermione had been swirling for close to five full minutes and landed in the international portkey room of the ministry, whose walls and floor were lined with cushion charms and piles of brown bags for the more sensitive organisms. Right next to the lovely clay pots filled with mimbulus mimbletonias that throw stinksap upon the briefest of touches.

She spent a while trying to stop the world from spinning and to stand still, and then cleared her head with a thorough shake that frizzled her untameable hair to the ninth degree, all the while staying clear of the Assyrian plants and silently cursing the wizard that put them there.

Swaying left and right, she opened the door and was promptly given a quill to fill all seventeen forms, eleven in triplicate with the rest to be filed within the ministry. After declaring no possession of illegal magical or muggle items, visible or otherwise, and a final scan of her wand, she was allowed to leave. She walked down the ministry corridors and paused once to clear her head again, before she reached the atrium and promptly queued for a floo line.

Wondering how to contact Neville as soon as possible, Hermione remembered briefly meeting him for the funerals and watching him struggle with a couple of Daily Prophet reporters that were stationed by the gates. His grandmother had taken care of them with a well placed hex.

Soon enough it was her turn at the man-sized hearth, and she dropped five knuts into the floating jar while keeping her palm underneath it, catching a lump of floo powder. She was about to throw it in when the fire crackled and the familiar likeness of her Gryffindor housemate sprung forth. "Neville!"

"Oh, hello Hermione! You're just the witch I was looking for," he said, and without asking for her permission, called "Proudrump Place" and dragged her away in a maelstrom of swirling green flames.

"What the--"

Any questions, complaints or otherwise actions against being dragged into the floo died with the soot Hermione inhaled, which made her exit ungraciously from it and cough her lungs out all over the Longbottom Manor parlour room. Neville cast an airway clearing spell on her and she thanked him, before cornering him against the wall pointing the tip of her wand between his eyes with a lightning fast motion.

"What did we find in the third floor corridor at Hogwarts seven years ago?" she asked forcefully.

"Goodness Hermione! A three-headed dog, a big blue cerberus!" he answered hastily, not wanting to suffer her legendary rage or magical skills in the flesh.

"Where am I and why have you brought me wherever this is?" she asked, backing away but still holding her wand up.

"I'm afraid that would be my doing, Madame Granger. As to where this is, welcome to Longbottom Manor," Augusta said while entering the room.

Hermione glanced quickly around, cataloguing everything in sight and quickly creating an escape route and feasible battle plan. War can foster quirky habits. She relaxed and pocketed her wand, reaching for Neville and helping him stand up. "I apologize Neville, I hope you understand I've become wary of unexpected situations. Mrs Longbottom, I extend my deepest apologies as well for my conduct."

"Quite understandable given the circumstances, Madame Granger," the older Longbottom said. "Neville, please escort our guest to the tea room. We must discuss one too many issues, albeit none have anything to do with tea, I'm afraid."

The three made their way through the manor, crossing a portrait lined hallway into a smaller yet cosy room with a round table and six comfortable chairs. The arched windows looked out towards the expansive gardens Neville had once bounced around when he was little and Hermione fought hard to stifle a chuckle at the mental picture of that event.

"Please have a seat Madame Granger," indicated Augusta with the proper formality of a pureblooded witch.

"Thank you ma'am," answered Hermione, accepting Neville's help with her chair. The young Longbottom then sat to her right, closing the triangle.

"What news from the southern settlements?"

"Actually ma'am, I missed the chance to interact with the Australian community I'm afraid. I returned to England looking for Neville and hoping to engage him in helping me with a ... restoration project."

Augusta nodded and, with a final inspection of the young witch before her, decided to be rather blunt. "Neville is a hero of the war, as are you. Does this restoration project include finding and helping another hero by the family name of Potter, perhaps?"

"Gran, I've told you, I'm no hero!"

"Be quiet Neville!" snapped Augusta, "I apologize for my grandson. He's not yet grasped the reality of what your generation has accomplished."

Hermione paused and looked at the young man sitting next to her, "Yes ma'am, that's what I came back to do. I understand Harry is still at Hogwarts then?"

Neville and Augusta shared an uneasy look, but it was the Lady Longbottom who spoke next. "He is missing, for the second time in the past couple of weeks. Mr Potter's first disappearance was relayed to us by the headmistress, who was hoping to find him sharing dinner with Neville. I'm sorry to tell you he was found in ... less than favourable conditions, shall we say."

"What do you mean? Did someone hurt him?"

"No one besides Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey at Hogwarts, plus Gran and I know of this Hermione. You see, Harry he ... he hurt himself on purpose. Badly."

Hermione gasped and brought both hands to her mouth, her eyes wide in sad understanding.

"I must confess," said Augusta, "that my personal interest in Mr Potter's affairs is biased towards my family's future well-being. The Headmistress was reluctant to share this information, and it's my understanding that the Weasleys haven't been told of his situation."

"Neville, we must find him!" Hermione expressed and stood up. "Mrs Longbottom, thank you for your time, we should be going."

She was dragging Neville to his feet when Augusta raised one pale hand in the air, slammed its open palm on the table and yelled at them to be seated, rattling cups and saucers. Hermione jumped and sat back at once, silently pitying Neville for being raised by the crazy old witch now glaring at her.

"Since the wizard you seek is missing, I've taken the liberty of procuring the means to find him!" the old witch said and picked a thick black book from a spindly table next to her. "This, is the manuscript codex of the Longbottom family. The most _interesting_ part of it, if I were asked to be more accurate."

Flipping through one page at a time, Augusta began explaining how all wards, spells, potions and rituals had been standardized after the Ministry Purge of 1906, when knowledge classifications and mandatory inspections of family libraries were made legal. Many families complied in good faith, others simply ignored the edict and dared an auror to set foot in their property, which brought them the title of Dark Magic Practitioners even if they'd never harm another human being.

Some like the Longbottoms simply hid their knowledge from undeserving eyes and hands.

"Now, where could we find a bit of young Mr Potter's flesh and blood?" asked Augusta with a raised white eyebrow.

Notes:

1.- The Selenite Hare or Moon Rabbit inhabits said asteroid but a few fall on Earth every full lunar eclipse. Or so Luna says...  
2.- Chiron is the greatest centaur in Greek mythology, who sacrificed himself to give mankind access to fire and was a miraculous healer.  
3.- A lorikeet is a bird that can be found in Australian rainforests. 


	3. Chapter 3: Undercurrents

**Chapter 3: Undercurrents**

While Harry Potter was being abducted on the back of a centaur, wounded and unconscious, in the castle nearby another abduction of a different kind was being uncovered. Current Headmistress Minerva McGonagall sat in front of a kidnapped magical portrait, repeating her last question at the former Headmaster portrayed in it, questioning him under the duress of their allegiance to the current head of the school.

"I asked, what have you done, Albus?"

Dumbledore's likeness sagged against the edge of the golden frame. "That night, when I suddenly remembered exactly where Lily and James had been hiding, it became clear Voldemort had struck. I asked Fawkes for his help and we landed in their drawing room, where James was ... dead. Sprawled on the floor, looking up at me ... silently accusing me for not doing enough to protect his family.

"Fawkes and I walked up the stairs, searching for Lord Voldemort. We found part of the roof had collapsed and I fell to my knees, searching for the boy who should be alive, or else I would have to search for young Longbottom instead. Alas, I had no memory of where they lived, so I believed Alice and Frank to be safe at that point in time.

"When clearing the debris I ... touched her. I felt unworthy of her touch. Lily's bruised and rigid hand had an extended index finger, accusing me for my failure, yet there was nothing I could do. Fawkes had flown a few yards and perched himself on an overturned cot, which I proceeded to lift and then we found him, Harry Potter, bleeding profusely from a deep cut on his forehead.

"The prophecy had been enacted, at least partially. Please understand, Minerva! That prophecy gave us hope, because once Voldemort acted on it, it became our only means of defence against him! However, there is one magical event I witnessed at Godric's Hollow that I have kept a guarded secret until today."

"Albus, I'm loosing my patience!" snarled McGonagall.

"I see... Please bear with me, Headmistress. The ultimate goal of a Horcrux is but to enslave one's fractured soul to this realm and survive the death of one's body. It does not make one immortal, it simply prevents one from passing over to the next great adventure. That being said, I believe that despite Lily Potter's willing sacrifice allowing for prophecy to be served by marking Harry as an equal to Voldemort, magic went a step further in making them equal. It gave baby Harry a Horcrux of his own."

McGonagall went still and remained silent for several moments, until her lips thinned and she took a deep breath. "_The boy has a Horcrux of his own and you decided not to tell him?_" she yelled. "Damn it Albus! How could you? What else have you been hiding from all of us?"

"Many things, I'm afraid to say, Minerva."

"How? How could those foul things have been created by accident? And how is it Harry has been living with a fractured soul all this time?"

"To answer your first question, I must again hypothesize. I believe baby Harry was directly hit with the Killing Curse that night, right on his forehead," the portrait of Dumbledore traced a lightning bolt on his own face. "However prophecy and old magic, a sacrifice of love, disturbed that event and redirected the curse back at the caster. The moment Harry killed Lord Voldemort, however, magic crafted a Horcrux for him as well."

"If that's the case, Harry could have survived anything thrown at him? Is that why you were so confident that in the end, once he had mastered the Hallows, it wouldn't matter if he was killed by the Killing Curse or slain by the steel of a sword?"

The former Headmaster was elated at the current Head's quick thinking, despite the unrestrained anger she showed him. "Indeed, however if he had suffered death prior to his becoming Master of Death, he would have become less than a ghost, mere shadow and vapour, not the strong soul that chose to return to this plane of existence.

"Now in answer to your second question, which I'm obligated to answer by the charms placed upon my canvas, it pains me to admit I always believed Harry had no problems or difficulties in life, even with a fractured soul. Withholding the prophecy from him was an old man's mistake, I told him once, and perhaps hiding this truth was yet another ... perhaps he _was_ living a half-life, struggling to understand why he never felt complete. If he has tried to ... quit life ... since I refuse to use the proper wording, I confess to have failed him, yet again."

"What object became Harry's Horcrux? Show it to me so we can search for him. I need to think about your motives and deal with the fact that, in the end, _you_ may have saved us all through your keen intellect and faith in magic itself."

Dumbledore's likeness complied as expected, "Place the Sorting Hat on your head and ask it to deliver Puff, the Magic Dragon."

Raising an eyebrow, Minerva summoned the Sorting Hat into the room and put it on, instructing it as told, and was rewarded with a soft object bouncing over the tight bun she kept her hair in. Reaching for it, she found herself holding a small, blue stuffed dragon. "This was in Harry's cot that awful night?"

A nod from the painting confirmed it. "Minerva, please exercise extreme caution around that object. Horcruxi are aberrations of nature, they defile something sacred and cannot be undone, only destroyed. If Harry becomes aware of it, he will lose his mind, of that I am certain."

"Poppycock, Albus! If anything has destroyed his mind it was Death itself. You haven't seen him. His eyes are dead, he wandered the castle like a ghost, visiting the places people died... No, there must be something I can do for him, I owe him that much." McGonagall stood up and squeezed the toy dragon, making it release a puff of smoke, and set out to find a way to reunite a shattered soul despite Dumbledore's assertion that it cannot be done.

Unfortunately, she had to find the missing part first, the part inside Harry Potter himself before he decided to finish what he tried to accomplish in the castle, unaware that even if he killed his body, he still couldn't be free.

* * *

High above the Forbidden Forest, Luna and Raisin flew in circles, the Thestral sniffing the air to find the same scent the witch had shown it in a piece of cloth before being attacked by slender and accurate arrows. It caught a thread of its prey and dove towards the earth, with its rider squealing in delight, faster than a Quidditch player after a loose Quaffle.

The forest was large, and being magical, large could be any measure of length, which proved to be true in the hours ahead. Luna's body ached all over, she was still on potions to knit nerves and regrow soft tissue, particularly cartilage that was destroyed by curses, of the Unforgivable variety as well as others. "Where are you, Harry? What was so interesting about you that the Eternal Herds have spirited you away?"

Raisin gurgled a response, but she simply hugged the magical creature tighter and rested her pounding head against the scaly neck, taking comfort from the coolness of its skin. Fifteen minutes later, the Thestral landed and began to feast on the carcass of some dead beast on the ground, giving Luna time to dismount and scan her surroundings.

"This will take longer than the mating dance of the Jauntyful Goldjugglers," she spoke to the trees, tilting her had upwards to the sky and closing her eyes. "Others will come... Yes, they will eventually come for him."

* * *

Earlier that day, inside Longbottom Manor, Hermione sat uncomfortably across a tea table from the obnoxious Augusta Longbottom, considering where she could find flesh and blood belonging to her missing friend Harry.

"What exactly does that spell do, ma'am?" she asked in the meantime.

"These charms were created for herding particularly valuable creatures, such as dragons, griffins, or even packs of Crups. The practice was to save some blood and flesh from the newborns, and use it to chase after them if one or more were stolen or escaped the fields."

"Oh... Quite useful. Why was it banned, then?"

Neville answered instead of his grandmother. "Because the Wizengamot deemed the spell to be detrimental to the freedoms of wizards and witches. Aurors were using blood and hairs found in Muggle Hunting grounds to guide them straight to some of the most prominent members of society at the time."

She couldn't really notice it, but Hermione's hair puffed up and her eyes almost blazed with anger. The weeks spent raging against her narrow-minded parents and trying to find herself at the bottom of a bottle of wine had loosened the trademark self-control she displayed while in school. "Muggle Hunting? Are you saying they banned a legal spell that was used to bring criminals to justice because they were tracking down purebloods guilty of murdering innocents?!"

"Calm yourself Madame Granger!" Augusta said and shoved a cup of tea under the young witch's nose. "For someone vaunted to be the smartest witch of the times, you certainly haven't displayed much of an intelligence so far."

Hermione sputtered and Neville placed a hand on hers, quietly asking her to hold her temper.

"Why do you concern yourself with matters of the past, when present and future should be your sole focus? Have you learned nothing from your struggle against the Dark Lord? Are you learning nothing from the fact one of your brothers in wands is terribly distressed _because_ someone though he knew best, much like yourself?"

"I do _not_ appreciate your veiled insinuation regarding Professor Dumbledore, Madame Longbottom. He did what _had_ to be done and so did I!" Hermione replied and dropped the cup of tea.

"Do you not consider yourself to be a hypocrite, then? You rage against my kind and yet you treated _your own blood_ no different than what the Knights of Walpurgis regarded them as. Did you not consider your mother and father simple Muggles, inferior beasts incapable of making decisions on their own? Beings so simple and defenceless that you, a witch, had to step in and care for them as you intend to do with House-Elves?"

"That information was held in strict confidence," Hermione snarled and looked sideways at Neville, demanding an explanation.

"Look not at the Head of Longbottom for clarifications, I do have many sources of information merely a pinch of Floo Powder away," the matriarch said and sipped from her cup, never removing her aged eyes from the angry Muggleborn. "Clarify yourself then, young lady. Do you know best about early nineteen-hundreds politics and the reasons for Muggle Hunting? Do you have all the facts or do your primary inclinations blind you to reality?" the elder witch insisted, straightening her posture and looking as formidable as she was during the Battle of Hogwarts. "I was there. I saw the Muggle blossom and triumph over their limitations, and I saw their greed to obtain anything and everything that exists in the world. I saw their desire to take magic for themselves."

Hermione sat back startled.

"The Muggle expansionists pushed into wizarding lands, and we retreated. They built and ploughed over magically powerful places, and we let them. They dirtied the winds and the waters, and killed the sprites of the forests, and we let them. When they started killing witches and wizards again, torturing them to gain our magic, we let them. _Secrecy_ was more important than the lives of those of us foolish enough to be caught by Muggles.

"Albus has always thought he knows best. He followed the trend of the times and, reacting to how his own family was affected by them, wrote essay after essay detailing how to cull and control the Muggle hordes," Augusta continued and smiled at the attentive look her grandson had on his face, for once able to focus on something other than _chlorophyll_. "Do not doubt this, Madame Granger, the fact remains that his plans resulted in a war that killed roughly forty million Muggles by the end of the second decade of the twentieth century, and nonetheless we only acknowledge him as the wizard who vanquished his dear friend Grindelwald."

Sipping the last of her tea and charming another batch, Augusta continued her history lesson, "He had turned against his own ideals much earlier, of course, due yet again to a tragedy within the Dumbledore family. If anything, that loathsome witch Skeeter has for once written more than a partial truth with her acidic quill. Like you, Madame Granger, the wizard you defend so vehemently expected his dogma to be followed without contest, and created more havoc through half-measures and magnanimous attitudes than any Dark Lord could have ever created on his own."

"Why I've never--"

"_And_ perhaps Muriel was right, in that you are just a skinny-ankled Muggle playing witch, after all," the old matriarch told Hermione as she looked deep into her eyes.

Hermione felt as if the Longbottom Matriarch had been using Legilimency on her, and yet she had no involuntary recollections nor the tell-tale sensation of a foreign presence in her mind. She turned her eyes away after a long moment of silence, downing the rest of her tea in one single swallow. "Obliviating my parents was but my lesser concern. Harry and I had to use every magic at our disposal, Madame Longbottom, and I have performed magic no skinny-ankled Muggle playing witch could ever hope to do while hunting for the anchors that kept the Dark Lord alive."

"Unforgivables as well?" Augusta asked with a knowing smirk. "For one who believes so strongly in justice, you certainly discard the concept quite easily to accomplish your own goals. In the end, what separates you from a Death Eater?"

"I did what's right, I-- I--" she started but cut herself short. "I need a drink..."

"Have I chinked that armour of righteousness yet, Madame Granger?" Augusta provoked, refilling her cup with steaming Darjeeling yet again. Her hand shook heavily and Neville was quick to take over and pour for her. He looked disapprovingly at his grandmother but she stared back at him with that familiar authoritarian look he'd seen his whole life.

"I'll contact Hogwarts to find flesh and blood of my friend. It's likely Madame Pomfrey has kept samples from her most frequent visitor," he told Hermione and left the room, abandoning the witches to their intense quarrelling.

* * *

Harry regained consciousness and immediately regretted breathing. The sharp pain reminded him of his encounter with the strange centaur and the interrupted meeting with Dobby, his faithful friend who'd known freedom in a way he never would. He remembered the centaur knocking his wand away, which likely destroyed the Death Stick's allegiance to him, and as he rubbed his hands, Harry realized he'd lost the Resurrection Stone as well.

"Damn centaurs," he hissed and stifled a cry of pain at the effort of rolling over. "They could've left me _some_ dignity," he grumbled after finding himself nude. His chest was marred by a dark-red yet dry wound, where the arrow he'd been shot with had buried itself, and he mentally tallied another scar to his collection.

The clearing he woke in was warm, with thick, wild grass and blossoming flowers here and there. Sunshine fell at an angle, indicating it was probably late in the afternoon, and he saw birds flying around, feeding on seeds and insects. With another grunt, Harry raised his torso on his hands and crouched to stand up, startling a meandering red fox who ran away for the safety of the trees.

He heard tell-tale sounds of galloping and assumed a defensive stance, scanning the edge of the clearing and finally realized he wore no eyeglasses. "What the...?"

Pushing that question for later, he pressed a hand to his chest as a stabbing pain rocked him again, deciding to sit down and regain his breath. No sooner had he sat on the ground that the origin of the galloping revealed itself.

"Stand up, human!" the bearded centaur commanded from the shadow of the forest.

"Why?"

Chiron smiled darkly and his braided beard twitched. "Because I say so, human. It is not your place to question me, Chiron of Pilio, Ancient of the Eternal Herd, Bringer of Knowledge."

Harry snorted. "Great, another arsehole full of himself. Where are my clothes, centaur?"

Three arrows zoomed an inch from his face, two more coming to fall between his legs as soon as he finished his question. Harry flinched but remained seated, rubbing his chest and keeping an eye on the only visible enemy twenty yards away.

"What must you hide beneath clothes, human? Are you so dishonest and untruthful that you must pretend to be something else?" Chiron said and started to approach the naked man.

"Er... It's more of a warmth and comfort matter rather than pretending. Sure, you've got fur, but I'm a hairless ape," replied Harry, amused at the look of confusion on Chiron's face.

"You dare to mock me? You dare to make fun of an ancient being that honours your lowly existence with my mere presence?"

"You _shot_ me! All I wanted was to talk to someone, anyone who'd tell me about true freedom, about what it's like to feel free, to be truly free ... because I thought only death sets you free," he trailed off, falling to his left side and moaning. His chest hurt and breathing had become progressively more difficult.

Chiron towered over Harry and twirled beard braids around his finger, "I did as required. Your constant trespassing of the forest and the destiny bestowed upon you by the stars demanded the highest honours for your sacrifice. Yet here you are, alive in death, dead in life."

"If you're so damn old, how come you're speaking modern English?" Harry asked mockingly, trying to get a rise out of the stuck-up centaur. He might be hurting, disarmed and naked, but he still had some wits to fight with now that he'd decided to stay alive. All he needed now was an opening to run back into the forest and find his way to Hogwarts.

"Ridiculous humans and their small minds. _Why, how, when, where, what._ Must you question everything and anything? I am Chiron. I am Knowledge," the centaur answered. "I am the origin and the ending of all that was, is and will be known. I bring meaning to the heavens and give wisdom to the worthy. I show truth to the blind and speak wonders to the deaf."

"And all I want is a fucking straight answer. You'd love to chat with Dumbledore, were he still alive."

"Albus Dumbledore was an honourable human. Not very bright, but honourable nonetheless."

Startled, Harry rolled over and rested on his back, knowing the centaur could smash his skull with a hoof if he wanted. But Chiron didn't seem too inclined in killing him, in fact, if Harry didn't know better, he would risk guessing the creature had taken an interest in him. What's more, his hand should be broken and his chest should be bleeding. "How long have I been here?"

"Time is irrelevant, distance is inconsequential. What matter these to the eternal stars and the ever-dancing planets above us? What matter these for the child who crossed the mirror?"

Cursing the centaurs and their stupid fixation with riddles and astronomy, Harry closed his eyes and fell into an easy slumber. The ground was warm and comfortable, and although his chest hurt with every breath he took, the instinctive knowledge that Chiron had already tried to kill him once and wouldn't attempt the deed twice was enough to make him surrender to oblivion.

Somehow, forces stronger than human desire or centaur divining had spurred an unstoppable current of events for which neither species had received clear warning.

* * *

Notes:

1.- I don't know what exactly happened at Godrics Hollow, and running over several possibilities, I chose one for this tale. The Fidelius was cast and the Secret Keeper chosen, but Dumbledore retained no knowledge of who it was. When Voldemort was blown apart, the charm broke, and the secret was revealed to all who had previous knowledge.  
2.- Dumbledore kept secrets even after death. He didn't lie to Harry when he told him he had a choice to cross over or to return to life after Voldemort hit him with an Avada Kedavra, because the choice was really his, however had he chosen to move on, Harry's Horcrux would've prevented it.  
3.- Shortest possible chapter, because this story is supposed to run fast and show but the most important events in the post-Voldemort life of Harry Potter and his friends. 


End file.
